Looking For America
by Alicia K
Summary: "and we walked off to look for America"


Title: "Looking For America"  
Author: Alicia K.   
Rating: PG-13 for some language, violence, non-  
graphic sex, and disturbing themes  
  
Keywords: Post-colonization, major character   
dead at the beginning of the story. Yikes!  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Thanks for   
letting me borrow them, Chris.   
  
Archiving: Ask first, please. Chances are   
I'll say yes.  
Feedback: Betcha by golly wow!   
Spartcus1@msn.com  
  
Summary: In a post-colonization world, a   
lonely woman named Kate befriends a lonely FBI   
agent with a dark heart. I wonder who that is?  
  
Author's Notes: I never thought I'd be writing   
a story with only half of the Mulder/Scully   
dynamic. I never thought I'd be totally   
obsessed with a TV show, either. Funny how   
those things work out.   
  
Special Thanks: To Ophelia, Joanna, Caz, Lisa,   
and Jamie for their wonderful, much-appreciated   
beta skills and encouragement. And to Paul   
Simon, whose acoustic live version of "America"   
inspired this story.  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
"Looking For America"  
by Alicia K.  
  
The necklace fell gracefully, as if in slow   
motion. The ocean breeze prevented it from   
dropping straight down into the turbulent   
water; it caused the chain to twist and turn,   
pirouetting through the cool air in a delicate   
dance.  
  
Sudden tears caught in my throat for this woman   
I had never met, but I swallowed them quickly.   
This was not my grief to bear. I wanted to   
look to the man who stood not ten feet from me,   
to see if he was shedding the tears that I   
could not, but I was reluctant to take my eyes   
from the descending necklace.   
  
Whether I was expecting some kind of sign, I   
couldn't say. But when the late afternoon sun   
hit the small cross, the brief, brilliant flash   
was like a beacon, signaling to the man who   
stood on the cliff above.  
  
I let out the breath I didn't realize I had   
been holding as the gold cross and chain   
disappeared from my sight. Finally daring to   
glance at my companion, I saw his eyes drift   
slowly shut, his chin dropping to his chest,   
shoulders giving up their stubborn set.  
  
After another long minute of silent vigil,   
Mulder sat down on the edge of what used to be   
California.  
  
I silently retreated, leaving him to mourn for   
the woman he called Scully.  
  
XXX  
Northern Wisconsin  
Six Months Earlier  
  
Uncle Jim's cabin was still standing. That in   
itself surprised me; no one had been up here in   
years, except for the caretaker that Mom had   
hired to keep it clean and off the condemned   
list.  
  
I arrived with my car, my suitcase, food, and   
two notebooks, ready to face a world with no   
phones, no memories of my ex-boyfriend Dan, and   
no stress.  
  
Instead, I found the late night AM radio talk   
shows filled with warnings and told-you-so's as   
the paranoid talked with frantic voices about   
an approaching storm. I laughed about it a   
little that first night, reaching over to   
switch off the old radio before turning over to   
fall into a deep sleep.  
  
"The aliens are coming!" the voices raged over   
static-filled radio waves, sounding even more   
frightening in the utter darkness of the hot,   
still night. "Colonization will begin Labor   
Day weekend!"  
  
'Aliens,' I thought with a laugh. 'Right,   
buddy. Little green men.'  
  
It didn't actually hit me that the voices   
belonging to Scott from Denver, Bob from San   
Francisco, and Melvin from DC were speaking the   
truth until an announcement from the president   
came over the air.  
  
He declared a state of emergency, but didn't   
elaborate. I remember being angry at his   
vagueness, anxious and disgusted at the way   
Washington was keeping the country in the dark.   
The broadcast was brief and terse, and he urged   
people to seek shelter or leave the major   
cities.   
  
The static-covered voices returned then, and my   
thought of 'I didn't know there were actually   
people named Melvin' was quickly lost amidst   
the feelings of utter dread that came with the   
increasing urgency of their voices.  
  
Sitting in a chair on the patio, the cheap   
radio by my side, I kept glancing down at my   
watch, checking the date, making sure that it   
really was only two days before the Labor Day   
weekend. The air was heavy and moist.   
Mosquitoes fed on me as I sat there in the dark   
looking out over the eerily calm lake, but I   
merely slapped at them absently, often too late   
to stop the sting and itch.  
  
Just before dawn, the crickets ceased their   
chirping, and I knew with sudden certainty that   
Scott from Denver, Bob from San Francisco, and   
Melvin from DC had been wrong. The raving   
voices on the radio became unnerving static,   
and I knew it had begun.  
  
They were early.  
  
With silent panic and trembling hands, I walked   
back into the cabin and let myself into the   
ancient bomb shelter that Uncle Jim and Grampa   
had built long ago. I sat on the cold, hard   
cement in the dark, damp corner and wept,   
praying frantically to a god I wasn't sure I   
believed in.  
  
And I waited.  
  
Was I waiting to die? Waiting for a bright   
light and weightlessness? I didn't know.  
  
I didn't know how long I remained in that   
shelter, illuminated only by an ancient   
flashlight that I used stingily. My watch had   
stopped at 4:45 AM on Thursday morning, at the   
same time the radio voices had become static,   
the same time the crickets' chirping had   
ceased.  
  
When the fear became too much and I was ready   
to face whatever awaited me outside my cement   
fortress, I threw open the doors with a ragged   
cry, half hoping that someone (something?) was   
waiting to kill me.  
  
The terror out there was no less than inside my   
cramped cement refuge. The world had grown   
still and silent, the air thick with heat and   
something that I couldn't quite put my finger   
on but knew was inherently evil.  
  
The lake's surface was glassy, looking as if   
nothing could disturb it. It looked like I   
could walk across its surface, a post-  
apocalyptic Christ.  
  
I almost laughed at that thought. I even   
opened my mouth to let the sound out, but it   
stopped short in my throat as I looked up to   
find the sun.  
  
The sun was red. Not the red of a beautiful   
sunset, but the rich red of blood and death.  
  
And in the air hung the sound of a constant,   
unearthly hum.  
  
My body felt numb and cold. Clenching my   
chattering teeth, I returned to the shelter.  
  
'Hell of a way to learn that we aren't alone,'   
I thought as I perched tensely on the hard   
floor, biting down on the inside of my cheek to   
keep from screaming.  
  
  
XXX  
  
It was so quiet, this new world.   
  
I missed my mom and the whirring of her   
exercise bike as she rode it down in the   
basement.  
  
I missed my friends, the way they would egg me   
on as I sang karaoke in a smoky bar.  
  
I missed music, too. I had never been one to   
sit comfortably in silence. I had to have   
background noise: the TV in the other room, a   
CD in the stereo.   
  
But all the radios had been silenced. There was   
nobody left to man the stations, to play songs   
to drive away the loneliness that no longer   
only crept in during the dead of night; that   
loneliness was now a given, occupying the   
aching silence of the new world. I sang to   
myself, talked under my breath, anything to   
keep my ears from ringing with the heavy quiet.  
  
I had stumbled out of the cabin after a long   
week of fear and discomfort, my ears straining   
to hear signs of the low hum.  
  
There had been nothing.   
  
My fingers had turned the knob of the radio,   
desperately listening for signs of life out   
there. Only silence blared out of the   
speakers.  
  
My tears had resurfaced as I frantically threw   
my things into the car. Wiping them from my   
blurred vision, I had attempted to start my   
car. Nothing happened.  
  
Nothing.  
  
XXX  
  
I walked, carrying what I could in my bag: what   
was left of my water, a little food, a   
flashlight, another pair of sneakers. In a   
moment of clarity, I had recognized the wisdom   
of taking a second pair of comfortable shoes if   
I would be walking . . .  
  
Where? Where would I be walking? I supposed I   
would go home first, to see if there was a home   
left to go to. After that . . . I just didn't   
know.  
  
And so I walked. I passed motionless cars with   
dead drivers on the highway. I passed bodies   
lying on green grass and in gardens, all with   
thin trickles of dried blood tracing a crooked   
path from their ears.  
  
Some of the bodies were not human, but my   
stubborn fear kept me from moving in for a   
closer look. I saw only their chalky skin and   
long fingers as I hurried past.  
  
I let myself into empty convenience stores,   
gathering water and food. I helped myself to   
cartons of cigarettes and smoked them eagerly,   
despite the fact that I had given them up   
several years ago. They gave me an odd   
comfort, soothing what was left of my numbed   
nerves.  
  
My wish of finding one other living being   
finally came true as I walked into St. Louis,   
singing tunelessly under my breath.  
  
I stopped to rest, drinking from the jug of   
distilled water I carried in my heavy backpack.   
The tepid water dripped from my mouth, mingling   
with the hot tears seeping from my eyes.  
  
I wished that I could have been with my mother   
when she died. Maybe then I would be dead as   
well, instead of wandering aimlessly in this   
broken world.  
  
I didn't know where I was going and I didn't   
know what I was going to do. I was determined   
to find another survivor. I had to know that I   
wasn't alone. Then I could figure out what   
came next.  
  
I put the bottle away and looked up at the   
familiar arch shining in the harsh midday sun.  
  
"Hey!"   
  
The sharp voice startled me, and I spun around   
so quickly that I tripped and fell forward. I   
would have braced myself with my hands, but my   
arms got tangled up in my backpack.   
  
Lying in an undignified heap in the dry grass,   
I squinted up at the owner of the voice, a   
bearded blonde man in a University of Georgia   
sweatshirt and jeans.  
  
"Who are you?" he demanded in a thick Southern   
accent, and as my shocked brain fumbled for the   
appropriate response, other faces appeared next   
to his, both male and female.  
  
"I . . ." I stammered, then burst into tears.   
  
"Where did you come from?"  
  
"Jack! Leave her alone, she's frightened!"   
The owner of the sympathetic voice knelt beside   
me, smiling kindly. "Are you all right,   
sweetheart?" she asked gently.  
  
I swiped at the tears and looked up into her   
eyes. "I . . . you're . . ." She helped me   
sit up, and I pressed the heels of my hands   
against my eyes, trying to stop the tears. "I   
thought I was the only one left."  
  
XXX  
  
The forty-six survivors had come from the east   
and the south, having survived the invasion by   
retreating underground in shelters, like me.   
  
Jack was from Athens, Georgia. Melinda was the   
Virginian who had come to my rescue. Nathan   
and Kristin were two of the ten children in the   
group. Sonja was pregnant and terrified. All   
were shell-shocked, wandering across the   
leveled country in a wide-eyed daze. Many   
carried guns and other weapons, but hadn't had   
much use for them.  
  
They had taken up temporary residence in a   
deserted Holiday Inn in St. Louis, resting for   
a few days to gather their strength and   
hopefully scavenge for more supplies. Upon   
arriving three nights before, they had chosen   
the hotel and cleared the building of the   
decomposing bodies in their now-familiar   
routine.  
  
I stood by the dirty pool that night, chain   
smoking and trying to still my trembling hands.   
Earlier, around a conference room table, Jack   
and several others had told me the story of the   
invasion.  
  
Attempted invasion, as it turned out.  
  
It had been swift and violent. Mere hours   
after the initial invasion, a counter attack   
had occurred. Alien rebels, they informed me.   
They appeared human, with the exception of   
having no discernible facial features. It was   
as if they had seared all of their visible   
orifices shut, it was explained to me.  
  
The rebels had destroyed the attacking aliens   
as fast as they had arrived, then turned their   
weapons on the rest of the world. Their   
weapons struck down every living being and had   
emitted an electro-magnetic pulse that had   
rendered all electronic devices utterly   
useless.  
  
A violent shudder had passed through me as they   
talked; I couldn't shake the image of Mom   
falling to the ground, blood trickling from her   
ears.  
  
The destruction had ended as suddenly as it had   
begun, but the aliens had worked quickly.   
Those who had been aware of the approaching   
doom had taken cover in old fallout shelters as   
I had; we were the only ones spared, and there   
weren't many of us.  
  
Odd that underground dwellings built to save   
ourselves from each other would save us in an   
attack from another planet.  
  
They told me this as if it were common   
knowledge, which struck me as odd, even while   
this information overwhelmed me.  
  
I had gripped my head to stop it from spinning   
and asked in a rough voice, "How do you know   
all of this?"  
  
Melinda had splayed her hands out on the table   
before her, studying them carefully as she   
responded, "One of the survivors from DC told   
us." She had given a short chuff of a laugh.   
"He said that he had known about it for a long   
time, and that it had been planned by ours and   
other governments years ago." Her haunted gray   
eyes had met mine then. "Can you imagine?"  
  
I could.  
  
I could imagine just about anything now.  
  
I flicked another cigarette butt into the murky   
water, staring down at a lone body that was   
lodged at the bottom of the pool, trapped   
underneath a poolside table. I wondered   
fleetingly how he had gotten there.   
  
"You got a light?"  
  
I turned at the sound of the flat baritone   
voice. He stepped forward from the shadow of   
the doorway and was illuminated by the moon.   
  
He was tall and lean, cheeks covered with faint   
stubble. His dark hair hung raggedly over his   
ears, scraping the collar of his battered   
leather jacket.  
  
I reached into my jeans pocket for my lighter   
and offered it to him. He turned towards me,   
his eyes flicking over me briefly before   
lighting the cigarette between his full lips.   
His eyes were hooded and dark. I was sure   
they, like all the others', held indescribable   
sorrow and a tragic tale.   
  
Just like mine.  
  
He took a long pull on the cigarette; in the   
silence of the late hour, I could hear the thin   
paper burning, turning into ash. I shuddered   
with a flash of delight at the slight sound and   
pulled another cigarette from the rapidly   
dwindling pack.  
  
Throughout the tales of horror I had been told   
earlier, I had kept quiet, save for my one   
question. What more could be said? I had   
grown accustomed to this new, silent world.   
Regaining the ability to communicate with   
anyone else seemed beyond me at the moment.   
And what was there to say when all the   
participants had seen their world destroyed?  
  
So I welcomed the silence of the man at my   
side. I didn't know his name, but I had seen   
him just beyond the edge of the group, just out   
of reach, just out of their circle. I wondered   
where he'd come from, I wondered whom he had   
lost, I wondered what his name was, but I   
didn't want to speak.  
  
When his cigarette butt joined mine in the   
pool, I wordlessly handed him another. The   
lighter had remained in his hand, and he lit my   
next one for me. Post-apocalyptic chivalry, I   
thought, a little smile peeking around the   
cigarette between my lips.  
  
"Gonna rain tomorrow," he murmured, tilting his   
face towards the moon above. "Halo around the   
moon." He spoke absently, his voice   
surprisingly tender, as if he were conjuring up   
a beloved memory.  
  
I looked up to confirm this and gasped slightly   
at the ethereal beauty of it. "You must have a   
little sailor blood in you."  
  
"No." All tenderness gone from his voice and   
expression, he flicked the cigarette into the   
pool and shook his head shortly at my offer of   
another. "You came from Wisconsin?"  
  
I nodded. "You?"  
  
I thought maybe he hadn't heard me or was just   
ignoring me, but he finally answered, "Back   
east."  
  
Conversation felt strange, almost like I was   
speaking in a foreign language. "How long have   
you been with them?" I asked with my sluggish   
tongue.   
  
"From the start."  
  
"Is it still September?" I asked tentatively,   
hugging myself against a sudden chill.  
  
He looked at me, an unreadable expression on   
his face. "Tomorrow's Halloween."  
  
I blinked a few times, confused. How long had   
I been in the cabin? I had lost count of the   
days in the shelter, living on the smallest   
portions of food I could stand and peeing into   
a bucket. I had no idea how many days and   
nights I had traveled, driving and walking   
through the states. I would have to start   
keeping track. Maybe then I wouldn't feel   
quite so lost.   
  
I shook my head, clearing the cobwebs and   
tossing my cigarette away. "Trick or treat," I   
mumbled.  
  
He gave a sound that may have at one time   
qualified as a chuckle. "Trick or treat," he   
repeated.  
  
I was seized then with a weariness that made my   
bones ache. Maybe I would try and get a few   
hours' sleep before the group headed west again   
in the morning. "Good night . . ." I said,   
trailing off where I would have spoken his   
name.  
  
"Mulder," he filled in for me, dismissing me   
with a nod and an uncomfortable expression.  
  
"Mulder," I echoed. His back was to me now,   
lost in his past, I guessed.   
  
I turned and went inside.  
  
XXX  
  
Nightmares were common. Everyone had their   
demons, their ghosts and terrors that came to   
them in the darkest hours of the night. The   
sounds of torment were not uncommon in the   
camps we set up each night, wherever we chose   
to stop.  
  
My own nightmares came quickly, showing their   
faces as soon as I drifted into sleep. I   
dreamt of dark bomb shelters and cold, hard   
concrete and brilliant flashes of white light   
that killed everything it touched.  
  
I dreamt of voices filtering through my radio.   
But instead of Scott from Denver, Bob from San   
Francisco and Melvin from DC, it was my mother,   
Nana, and Dan, all calling for me, their voices   
small and static-covered through the speaker.   
Then the voices would fade, replaced by a heavy   
silence that never failed to bring me back into   
consciousness, fresh tears on my cold cheeks.  
  
I got used to it quickly. There wasn't much   
else to be done about it. There was no solace   
to be found with these people, other than the   
basic comfort of knowing that there were   
others.  
  
There were others elsewhere, too. "Vancouver,"   
Mulder had told me a day or so ago, when it   
finally dawned on me to ask whether we had a   
specific destination or not. "There are camps   
there, survivors."  
  
I didn't know how he had come across that   
information, and I didn't bother myself with   
wondering. I didn't ask many questions.   
Talking seemed like such a waste. Some sick   
part of me decided that I almost preferred   
traveling alone, so that I could sing to keep   
myself company.   
  
It was better than the cold quiet that   
permeated our group. We walked for hours   
without the sound of one lone voice, as if we   
were all zombies, shuffling to find fresh flesh   
on which to feed.  
  
The only time I welcomed the silence was during   
those late hours, when I would move away from   
the camp and its smoldering fires, sitting on   
the edge of wherever we were. I smoked endless   
cigarettes acquired from the ghost shops of   
ghost towns we passed through, moving like   
ghosts ourselves.  
  
"Hey."  
  
I flicked my eyes over to Mulder, who was   
settling down a few feet from me, lanky legs   
akimbo on the hard ground.  
  
"Hey," I responded softly, tossing the pack of   
Camels and lighter over to him.  
  
I knew that Mulder often stayed up at night,   
forgoing sleep to wait for dawn away from the   
camp. I had found him watching the sunrise   
several times, and it struck me that he looked   
like he was waiting for something.   
  
Or someone.  
  
I half expected to see someone walking towards   
him one morning, a mere speck on the horizon at   
first, but growing as they approached, as the   
sun rose high and bright behind them. I   
pictured this person racing to catch up with   
us, having been left behind "back east" weeks   
ago. They would follow our tracks, picking up   
clues as to our path along the way.  
  
I think he was waiting for Scully, whoever that   
was. I didn't even know if that was a man's   
name or a woman's. I only knew that when   
Mulder did sleep, Scully was the name that he   
screamed as he awakened with a violent lurch.  
  
From the way he screamed I assumed that Scully   
was dead and would not be coming out of the   
horizon at the next sunrise.  
  
XXX  
  
I had always wanted to visit California. It   
seemed like the place to go, the place to be if   
you were as celebrity-crazy as I had been when   
I was younger. I always meant to just throw my   
shit in my car and take a road trip for a   
couple of weeks. I would stay with my aunt and   
uncle in Culver City, see all the sights, drive   
up the coast and marvel at the Pacific.  
  
It was Mulder who told me that California was   
gone. I again had no idea how he had come to   
know this bit of knowledge, but I decided I   
didn't want to know.   
  
The epitome of the American dream, the ultimate   
destination of so many dreamers had fallen into   
the sea, like all its pundits had long ago   
predicted. The invasion had set into motion a   
chain of events that had culminated in the   
largest earthquake this world had probably ever   
seen.  
  
The San Andreas Fault had given a mighty heave   
and pushed its western host into the ocean.  
  
This made me so sad. It filled me with a   
surprising ache, as if this loss meant more to   
me than the loss of my family, the loss of my   
corner of the universe.  
  
California was gone, and I had never gotten to   
see it.  
  
After Mulder had told me this news, I started   
to wonder why I was going to Vancouver. What   
was up there, besides the promise of other   
human beings? There was no civilization; only   
tattered ruins and shattered lives remained.   
That's all that remained anywhere.  
  
Did we think we could recreate a society? Or   
would we merely come together only to realize   
that there was nothing left, and would never be   
anything left?   
  
I began to lag behind the group, even going so   
far as to sometimes wander off in a different   
direction, just so I could hear the sound of my   
own voice again.  
  
Another night fell, and this time there was   
soft talk coming from the camp. I sat apart,   
as always, smoking and listening to the   
monotonous murmurs from a distance. Instead of   
comforting me, the sound of the talk made me   
feel anxious. I didn't want to be with them   
anymore.  
  
I wanted to . . .  
  
I didn't know what I wanted. I wanted my life   
back. I wanted to see Mom again. I wanted to   
sing along to my Indigo Girls CDs. I wanted to   
run with my dog.  
  
"They're heading north tomorrow."  
  
Mulder's voice startled me, and he took the   
offered cigarettes from me as he sat down.   
"They'll have to cross the mountains   
eventually."  
  
"Yeah," he agreed. After exhaling ghostly   
white smoke into the air, he said, "I'm not   
going north."  
  
I turned to him then. "Why?" I wondered if   
there was another group of people that he   
somehow knew about.  
  
"I have to go to California." His shoulders   
moved in a quiet laugh. "What's left of it,   
anyway."  
  
Tilting my head up towards the sky, I pondered   
the thousands of stars hanging motionless above   
us. Every night I watched carefully, waiting   
to see pinpricks of light moving towards us   
across the sky, becoming larger and larger   
until they landed to finish off the lives they   
had failed to destroy.  
  
"Take me with you," I requested quietly.  
  
He dipped his head, tracing a pattern in the   
dirt with the lighter. "Kate."  
  
"I have to go."  
  
He turned to me, one corner of his mouth lifted   
in what appeared to be a smile. "You have to."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Why do you have to?"  
  
I fiddled with the soft pack in my hands, the   
cellophane crinkling between my fingers. "I   
don't know."  
  
I could feel his dark eyes on me for a long,   
silent while, until he finally nodded and   
whispered, "Okay."  
  
We sat together and watched the sun rise hours   
later, but said nothing more.  
  
XXX  
  
When we left the next morning, the rest of the   
group watching us silently, I felt a little   
like Maureen O'Hara riding off into the sunset   
with John Wayne. Only in this movie, there   
would be no happily ever after.  
  
"You will find nothing but a country that ends   
too soon," Jack had told me as Mulder gathered   
supplies. I had only nodded at him. Not so   
long ago I would have argued with him, but what   
was the point now?  
  
As Mulder and I reached the top of the hill, I   
turned to watch the others begin their journey   
to the north.  
  
"Kate. Let's go." Mulder's voice drifted over   
the hot breeze to me from where he waited,   
halfway down the hill already.  
  
And we walked.  
  
XXX  
  
The desert was darker than I expected. I had   
known it would be dry and dead, the sun's   
rising and falling splashing the rocks and sand   
with colors that belied the horror the earth   
had become. But at night, after the colors had   
seeped into the barren ground, it was cold and   
lonely.  
  
The only light came from the slowly dying fire   
far behind me. As I settled onto the rapidly   
cooling sand, I tugged the blanket around my   
shoulders and briefly wondered if I should be   
concerned that I had wandered so far away.  
  
It's not like there was anyone or anything left   
to approach me.   
  
It was just us.  
  
Or was it? If there were camps still in   
Canada, or groups like Jack's, slowly trudging   
towards the promise of life, what was to say   
that there weren't others?  
  
Listening to the silence made me believe that   
there were no more. Having grown up in an   
environment that had been thick with nature's   
sounds, I was used to the noises of crickets   
and frogs, even the occasional snap of twigs   
under an animal's paws. I had never visited   
the desert and had no idea what the night   
sounded like.  
  
I was fairly sure that it hadn't sounded like   
this. The silence was almost painful, pressing   
onto my ears like mounting pressure in a   
climbing airplane.  
  
I cleared my throat, just to hear a sound, then   
drew my knees to my chest, resting my cheek   
upon them. The night air flitted over me, cool   
like a caress, but not comforting.  
  
XXX  
  
In the middle of yet another ghost town, Mulder   
spotted a store down the street. As he turned   
his head to call back to me, the bright sun   
flashed upon an object at his throat. I   
wondered how I had not noticed it before. I   
allowed my eyes to linger on the cross as he   
brushed his hands off on his battered jeans.   
  
It seemed out of place on his neck. I had   
barely spoken with him since St. Louis, but I   
got the sense that he was not a religious man.   
Maybe it was the way his hazel eyes shone with   
horrified knowledge, as if he knew something   
that the rest of us didn't. Maybe it was in   
the way his hands trembled when he lit our   
shared cigarettes.  
  
Maybe it just struck me as odd that anyone   
could still believe in a god that had struck us   
down so cruelly.  
  
I hurried down the hill and joined Mulder   
inside the store. In the rapidly dying light   
of day, we gathered what we could: two jugs of   
water, a few cans of soup, some beans, two ace   
bandages.  
  
A spot that I assumed used to be a park became   
our camp for the night, and we dined on beans   
and water around the sputtering fire.  
  
Cigarettes and silences were again shared as we   
watched the stars come out. I itched to carry   
out my nightly ritual of wandering from the   
fire, but I stayed.  
  
"Do you still believe in God?" I asked.  
  
Mulder's head jerked up, as if startled by my   
question, as if he had forgotten that   
conversation was an option. He appeared   
puzzled, and I gestured to the cross on the   
delicate gold chain around his neck. His hand   
slowly rose to touch the small cross, and his   
lips formed silent words before he replied, "I   
never did believe." His voice was no more than   
a ragged whisper, and I had a sudden flash of   
the man he used to be, speaking his thoughts   
confidently, in a silken baritone.  
  
I wanted to ask about the cross, but the way he   
was looking down at it made me swallow my   
words.   
  
Reaching around to unclasp the chain, he held   
it in his hands, looking down at it with such   
reverence and sorrow that I knew it had   
belonged to someone else; he wore it as a   
reminder of what he had lost. Wife? Daughter?   
Had it belonged to this person named Scully?  
  
"She's dead." His words were unprompted, and I   
fleetingly wondered if I had been thinking out   
loud. Then he laughed, a bitter barking sound   
that startled me. "Everyone's dead, though,   
aren't they?" He weaved the chain through his   
fingers, still staring intently at it. I   
watched the firelight dance upon it, making it   
seem as if he wore bands of muted gold on every   
finger of his left hand.  
  
"Were you with her when she died?" I asked. It   
seemed to me an odd question to ask, but I felt   
I needed to know. I hadn't been able to be   
with my mom and nana when they died, but maybe   
not everyone shared this guilt that I carried.  
  
"Yes."  
  
I prodded the smoldering fire with a stick,   
wondering if he would continue but not wanting   
to ask for his story. It was his to tell, his   
to give.   
  
He leaned over and reached inside his pack,   
emerging with a scrap of paper. Wordlessly, he   
handed it to me.  
  
It was his Scully, and she was beautiful.   
Intelligent blue eyes looked sharply into the   
camera, the smallest hint of a smile on her   
full lips. She was as pale as I was tan, and I   
fingered the unruly black braid that hung down   
my back as I enviously studied her auburn hair.   
I handed it back to Mulder, who looked at it   
lovingly, touching it in a brief caress before   
carefully replacing it among his things.   
  
"Your eyes are a lot like hers," he said   
absently, running a hand through his dark hair.   
"We made it to Virginia, but they attacked us   
while we slept," he continued in a low, dull   
voice. "We were so exhausted. I don't think   
I'd ever slept so soundly; we'd been travelling   
for days. It had taken us so long to get out   
of DC . . ." His hand made a tight fist,   
clutching at the thin chain. The cross glinted   
against his long, elegant finger. "She didn't   
hear them come up on us. Looters, I guess."   
He shook his head slightly. "I didn't hear   
them either. When I woke up, she was lying   
beside me, bleeding, and I couldn't do anything   
for her." His voice dropped to a whisper   
again. "They took everything."  
  
I closed my eyes, seeing him in my mind as he   
cradled his Scully in his arms, helplessly   
crying as her blood seeped out onto the   
lifeless ground.  
  
As my eyes drifted open again, he unwound the   
chain from his fingers, the cross dangling from   
his hand. "Leaving her there was the hardest   
thing I've ever had to do." I wasn't sure if   
he even remembered if I was there, just across   
the fire. "I buried her and left her."  
  
A heavy minute passed before he got up and   
swiftly walked out into the night. His voice   
hung in my ears.  
  
They took everything.  
  
XXX  
  
I was tired. I was tired of the silence and   
tired of smoking endless cigarettes beside a   
small campfire, but mostly I was tired of   
walking. I wasn't the type of person with an   
innate sense of wanderlust. I liked having a   
home. Now that there was nowhere to call home,   
it looked like I didn't have any choice. Maybe   
I never would again.  
  
I could have continued on to Canada with the   
others, but I had chosen to follow Mulder.   
Perhaps it was because I felt that I needed to   
see California, now that everything was gone.   
Perhaps it was because Mulder was the only one   
to offer me any kind of companionship.  
  
After he had told me about Scully, Mulder began   
to speak more freely, as if my questions had   
broken through the dam he had built around his   
vocal cords. He told me how he had stumbled   
upon the group, about what they had seen as   
they traveled.  
  
Lying on my blanket, I would watch the fire   
dance upon the sand, letting his voice lull me.   
I didn't speak up much with my own stories, but   
I think that's the way he liked it. I wanted   
to know more about his Scully, but I was   
hesitant.   
  
Who was I to take the only thing he had left?  
  
XXX  
  
Lying on the dry grass away from our camp, I   
tossed a cigarette away after only two puffs.   
I felt impatient, but I didn't know what for.   
The night seemed heavy to me, as if it too was   
waiting for something to happen. Hell, maybe   
the rest of the country was about to fall into   
the Pacific.  
  
There was a moderate breeze that night, which   
made me think we were close to our goal. As it   
blew across the open land, the dry brush and   
sand whispered around me. I smiled, listening   
to the welcome sound.  
  
That slight sound managed to cover the   
approaching footsteps and I never heard them   
come up behind me until the knife was at my   
throat.  
  
My cry was muffled under a thick, callused   
hand. The man holding me didn't speak, but his   
breath was heavy in my ear. Not daring to move   
even the inch required to look at my captor, I   
closed my eyes as rough hands squeezed at my   
body.  
  
What a way to find out that there are others, I   
thought, swallowing mad laughter as my jeans   
were quickly unbuttoned and yanked down over my   
hips. Didn't get to see California, I thought   
as a mouth bit wetly at my ear.  
  
With an odd sense of calm, I wondered if they   
would kill me. That thought was followed by   
the realization that I wanted them to.  
  
The knife suddenly left my throat, and the   
scramble of my captors sent me to the ground   
with a muffled sound. Finally daring to open   
my eyes, I saw Mulder standing over the body of   
a man. My would-be-rapist's jeans were around   
his ankles, and a pool of blood was rapidly   
spreading from his slashed throat.  
  
Mulder made no sound, not even as the other man   
rushed at him, knife at the ready. He made no   
sound as they toppled to the ground, both   
knives skittering away upon impact.  
  
Bile rose in my throat as I realized that the   
thick sounds of their primal fighting were   
welcome to me after so many months of eerie   
silence.  
  
I didn't know where to look - at the dying man,   
or at the sickly fascinating sight of Mulder   
killing the other with silent, methodical fury.   
I tilted my head back and looked up at the dark   
sky. I wondered if our invaders were watching   
us at that moment, laughing at the way we   
fumbled blindly in our new world.  
  
When Mulder said my name, I realized that the   
sounds had faded, and we were alone again. I   
shuddered, then nodded that I was all right.  
  
The sound of his harsh sobs made me finally   
turn to look at him. He sat beside the body of   
the man he had just killed, not bothering to   
hide his tears.  
  
I rose to go to him, not sure if he would   
accept my comfort but needing some of my own.   
I stumbled, forgetting that my jeans were still   
around my knees. Awkwardly pulling at them, I   
knelt beside him and tentatively touched his   
shoulder.  
  
He looked at me briefly before quickly turning   
away. An overwhelming sense of loneliness   
swept over me as I realized what he must be   
thinking - why couldn't he have saved her?  
  
My hand dropped from his shoulder as tears of   
my own sprang to my eyes. I suddenly wished   
that they had killed me. I don't think I had   
actually thought of it before, but it was so   
clear now - never again would I feel loved, or   
cherished, or even desired. There was simply   
no one left to do it.  
  
I moved to get up, but his hand on my knee   
stopped me. I looked down at his elegant,   
bloody fingers resting against my still half-  
bare leg.   
  
"You're all right," he whispered.   
  
I looked up into his hazel eyes, seeing a   
warmth that I hadn't seen there before. A tear   
slid down my cheek, and I allowed his hand to   
guide me to his lap, where I laid my cheek   
against his thigh and closed my eyes.  
  
With the comfort of his hand stroking my hair,   
I slept.  
  
XXX  
  
I awoke knowing that we were close to our goal.   
The air had been growing moist during the week   
since the attack, and I was sure I could smell   
the sea salt in the breeze.  
  
It had rained steadily for the past couple of   
days, and the river we camped near flowed   
swiftly and fully. I had bathed and swam in it   
the night before underneath the full moon, and   
the cool water had felt heavenly on my tired   
body.  
  
Wanting to feel that again, I shed my clothes   
and hurried over to the river only to find   
Mulder already there.  
  
The droplets of water on his skin caught the   
early morning light, and the sight of him   
covered in little sparks of sunlight stopped me   
in my tracks. I stared at him in awe for a   
good minute before I fully comprehended the   
fact that he was naked.  
  
It had been so long since I had felt even the   
dimmest spark of sexual desire, and the flush   
of warmth that dawned in my belly hit me with   
such force that I gasped.  
  
Without any thought of embarrassment I let my   
gaze drift slowly over him as he splashed   
handfuls of water over his body. He wasn't as   
thin as I had first thought when I met him -   
when? Days, weeks, months ago? - but was lean   
and muscled, with narrow hips and smooth chest.  
  
My eyes traveled down over his muscled legs,   
and when I had reached his feet, I raised my   
eyes again to find him watching me. The flush   
quickly spread to my face when he didn't avert   
his gaze in modesty.  
  
Out of instinct, I raised the blanket I carried   
to my chest to cover my nudity, but it faltered   
when he still did not look away.  
  
Feeling not unlike Adam and Eve in a twisted   
version of the Garden of Eden, I let the   
blanket fall and found myself walking towards   
the water. His eyes never left me, nor did he   
move, even as I stood before him and laid my   
hands on his chest.  
  
I let my hands slowly press over his skin,   
smoothing away the droplets of water. My index   
finger circled the small, round scar on his   
shoulder, knowing it was a bullet wound but not   
wanting to know the particulars that surrounded   
it.  
  
A sudden thought came to me as I touched his   
flat, brown nipples - I didn't know who this   
man was. Who had he been? He had killed those   
men in a manner that suggested he had done so   
before. Was I standing in a river naked with a   
criminal?  
  
Not that it mattered much now. If he hadn't   
harmed me so far, I could only assume he would   
not now.  
  
He finally moved to touch me, raising his hand   
to softly brush his knuckles over my cheek.   
Taking a small step closer, he lifted my face   
up to his and kissed me.  
  
I closed my eyes and let myself pretend that I   
wasn't having this post-apocalyptic encounter,   
but that I was back in Wisconsin, kissing   
Mulder in my darkened apartment. Maybe we had   
just gotten back from a first date, or maybe he   
was already a familiar lover.  
  
Maybe I could open my eyes right then and find   
myself there, in my own bed, shaking from the   
residual memories of this awful nightmare.  
  
The kiss ended, and my eyelids slowly drifted   
open. I did not see the comfort of my own   
bedroom, but Mulder before me with tears on his   
cheeks.  
  
"I'm sorry," he choked, turning abruptly and   
splashing towards the shore, where he grabbed   
his jeans and disappeared over the rise.  
  
XXX  
  
We didn't speak a word of our encounter at the   
river as we continued west, towards the ever-  
closer end of the road.  
  
I watched him as we walked, watched the way he   
kept reaching for the cross at the base of his   
throat, how his fingers caressed it, as if   
looking for reassurance or forgiveness.  
  
The silence continued until late that night,   
when I was awakened by the sounds of Mulder's   
cries as he called for his Scully. The screams   
quickly faded to sobs.  
  
It only took me a brief moment to decide what   
to do. I rose and went to him, kneeling beside   
him and brushing the dark hair from his face   
tenderly. He awoke immediately with a jerk,   
but I shushed him with two fingers over his   
lush mouth.  
  
He murmured his confusion, wrapping his hand   
around mine and drawing it away.  
  
"Let me," I whispered, placing a soft kiss on   
his mouth. A second, longer kiss and his arms   
pulled me down to his side.  
  
It wasn't a purely selfless decision on my   
part. The desire that had bloomed this morning   
refused to be swept back under the rug. So let   
him pretend I was his Scully, at least I would   
be gaining release, too.  
  
As his hands and mouth roamed over my body, I   
felt a spark of envy towards the ghost between   
us. I could imagine being this man's lover,   
enjoying his kisses and caresses, spooning in a   
big bed with him as a gentle breeze blew   
through an open window.  
  
I didn't realize I was crying until he hovered   
above, poised to enter me. With an infinitely   
tender gesture, he brushed the tears from my   
cheeks with his thumb, a soft smile on his   
face.   
  
"Kate."  
  
My eyes met his, startled to hear my own name   
from his lips. I had expected this to pass   
wordlessly, or perhaps her name to fall from   
his lips at his climax, but this was   
unexpected. Maybe I had been na‹ve to think   
that I could be a substitute for Scully. Maybe   
I had misjudged this entirely. Had misjudged   
him.  
  
"It's all right," he whispered, kissing me.   
The cross burned into my skin as he pressed his   
face against my neck, entering me swiftly.  
  
XXX  
  
"I've never smoked after sex before," I told   
him as we did just that.  
  
Mulder chuckled, a rare and welcome sound.   
"First time for everything." He tossed the   
lighter back to me and inhaled deeply.   
  
I wiggled my bare toes in the still-warm sand.   
I was a little sore, but physically satisfied.   
  
Physically.  
  
"Tell me about her."  
  
He exhaled loudly toward the dark sky, the   
smoke leaving his lungs like a gray cloud.   
"What do you want to know?"  
  
I want to know why you scream for her every   
night, why you wear her cross although you   
don't believe in God. "Was she your wife?"  
  
"No. Partner."  
  
"Partner-lover, or partner-partner?"  
  
He hesitated before replying, "We were FBI."  
  
"That explains your bullet scars, then."  
  
Another chuckle. "Kind of."  
  
I let that pass. "Would it be a dumb question   
to ask why you wear her necklace?"  
  
He plucked it from his skin, looking at it   
closely, as if he hoped to find the answer   
engraved on it. "She always wore it. Even   
when it got lost, it always found its way back   
to her."   
  
The following silence was interrupted by his   
fond laugh. "She saved my ass more times than   
I care to admit." He paused, seemingly   
deciding whether or not to continue, then   
tossed his cigarette away and began to tell me   
about their life with the FBI.  
  
As he talked, Scully began to take shape in my   
mind, becoming more than a picture, frozen in   
time. She had been his best friend, his   
confidante, his strength, and his better half,   
to hear him tell it.  
  
It was obvious that he loved her, I decided as   
I watched him absently pull apart a new   
cigarette. The thick emotion in his low voice   
gave that information away readily. I couldn't   
discern whether or not they had been lovers,   
and I didn't know how to ask without sounding   
jealous.  
  
But I was jealous. How could I not be, knowing   
that even though I was practically the last   
woman on earth, his heart would never be mine?   
He might like me, respect me, even care for me,   
but I could never fill the hole in his heart.  
  
"Why are you going to California?" I asked,   
swallowing the useless envy.  
  
"Scully grew up in San Diego. Her sister and   
daughter are buried there. It seemed like a   
fitting place to go."  
  
"She had a daughter?"  
  
His eyes burned into mine. "Look, what's with   
the twenty questions, Kate?" He flicked the   
tattered remnants of the cigarette into the   
fire. "Why do you have to go to California?"  
  
I plucked at the worn threads on the blanket.   
"I've always wanted to go there. I figured I'd   
go and see what was left of it. It may be my   
last chance."  
  
"Then are you going to join the others?"  
  
"Are you?" I shot back defensively.  
  
We looked at each other for a long, silent   
moment before dropping our gazes sullenly. I   
realized I hadn't really considered what would   
happen after we reached California. I could   
either continue north or not.   
  
Finally I shrugged. "I don't know where I'm   
going and I don't know what I'm doing." How   
could anybody know? Life as anyone knew it was   
gone, and we were all left to wander around in   
permanent shell shock. "That's the best I can   
do right now," I added, crushing my cigarette   
under a rock.  
  
Mulder reclined on the blanket, hands folded   
beneath his head. "I think that's the best   
anyone can do right now," he said softly.  
  
XXX  
  
We reached California the next day. I don't   
know if we were in what used to be San Diego or   
not. It was difficult to tell, when all that   
remained was rubble and rock, poking through   
the eerily calm water far below us.  
  
It looked a lot different than I expected, I   
thought inanely.   
  
Mulder didn't even glance at me, but walked to   
the very edge of the cliff, so close that I   
feared he would disappear over the edge with   
the rest of the state.  
  
I sat upon the edge a few feet away, my feet   
dangling over into nothingness. It would be so   
easy to let myself fall, to become part of the   
rubble and not have to worry about what would   
happen next. I pushed a rock over the edge and   
strained to hear it reach the bottom, but of   
course heard nothing.  
  
Jumping off the edge of the world would be   
easy. Living would be harder. Living alone   
would be reason to throw myself off the cliff   
right then and there. A sharp, high-pitched   
sound reached my ears, and I looked up into the   
sky and smiled with delight to see the lone   
seagull gliding high above.  
  
I turned to Mulder, excited words poised on my   
lips, but stopped when I saw him reach behind   
his neck to undo the clasp of the necklace. He   
held it tightly in his grasp, staring at the   
small gold cross.  
  
After long minutes he flung it over the cliff,   
and we watched its descent, watched the sun   
glint off of it, watched his last connection to   
his Scully until it was gone.  
  
Mulder then sat down, head cradled in his   
hands, and stared unflinchingly into the   
setting sun.  
  
XXX  
  
I had left him there, wanting to give him some   
privacy - what a joke, privacy in a world of   
two - and hung back a ways, smoking a few   
cigarettes and wondering if I would see him   
again.   
  
I half expected to return to the cliff to find   
him gone, having given in to the same   
temptations that I had, his body broken on the   
rubble below.  
  
So when he appeared before me, I was fairly   
surprised. I stood and trembled with a nasty   
anticipation, wondering if this was where he   
was going to say goodbye.  
  
"How did you survive?" he asked instead.  
  
I blinked, startled at the question. "In an   
old bomb shelter in my uncle's cabin,   
surrounded by miles and miles of forest."  
  
He nodded, the hint of a smile on his face.   
"We're either among the luckiest people ever to   
have lived, or the unluckiest. I haven't   
decided which yet."  
  
I chuckled slightly. "I think I've seen enough   
of California. I'm going to head north." I   
met his gaze. "Are you coming with me?"  
  
He flashed a brief, hesitant smile. "Yeah. I   
think I will."  
  
And we walked.  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
All feedback treasured and faithfully responded   
to at: spartcus1@msn.com  
  
  
  
  



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